Good night, sweet Prynce of books! May Heaven bless your slumber! And bring you dreams of books galore, ANd readers without number. A million minds fed by your work! Rich on your hallowed stores! Who bring back every book on time, And politely ask for more. And Bookmobiles of marv'lous size, Many, and large, and Great. But please take care, when this comes true, You do not forge their plates!

Hi moM. Sorry to have been neglecting you, but it appears that the others have been keeping you well entertained.

Up late trying to get IE on my son's laptop to work right after installing Spybot (and then trying to uninstall it and getting error messages.

If I had gone to bed when I was supposed to I would have missed the grey fox still prowling around the front yard to the music of the screech owls calling back and forth.

Headed up to Ma & Pa's in the green rolling hills of West-by-God-Virginia after work tomorrow to see my great aunt, in from Florida, and my great-neice, age 1, in from Long Island. Will also miss most of the blistering hot weather here in doing so. We will be 5 generations together. Neat!

Will be on a real coffee jag to stay awake until we get there about midnight, being as how it looks like I'm gonna be lucky to get more than 3 hours sleep tonight. Sum Yung Sun now has his learners permit so he can do some of the driving. Unfortunately, I will need to be awake for it.

When I think of your BOOKMOBILE, Rapaire, I am eaten up with envy so badly that I can hardly go on living! You are so far up there in my estimation that it's just...just...well, it's ineffable. How I wish I had a BOOKMOBILE of my own! (sob!)

AH Rapaire, what a wonderful composition, and so original and witty, so talented in the nuances of lost Tongues. Thank you SO much, and CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR BOOKMOBILE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Whilom ther dwelt at Pocyatelleo 80 A riche gnof, that gestes heeld to bord, And of his craft he was Booke-Keepere. Yet wythal was he a faire scoler, Hadde lerned art, but al his fantasye Was turned for to lerne astrologye, And koude a certeyn of conclusiouns, To demen by interrogaciouns, If that men asked hym in certain houres Whan that men sholde have droghte or elles shoures, Or if men asked hym what sholde bifalle Of every thyng; I may nat rekene hem alle.

This Booke-Keepere hadde newe a wyf, Which that he lovede moore than his lyf; Of most three scoare yeer she was of age. Jalous he was, and heeld hire narwe in cage, For she was wylde at Hearte, and he was old, And demed hymself, been lik a cokewold. He knew nat Catoun, for his wit was rude, That bad man sholde wedde his simylitude. Men sholde wedden after hire estaat, For youth and elde is often at debaat. But sith that he was fallen in the snare, Her moste endure, as oother folk, his care.

Well, you see, most people don't start at the beginning and read all of it. If you'd do that you'd understand completely and would immediately be able to post witty and pertinent comments. You would suddenly become young and good looking, once again able to turn somersaults on the front lawn in the fresh dewy dawn, to have stray dogs and cats and cops love you, to leap tall buildings, and to again do all of those things that you once could and now can't.

I feel your pain, Rig. I'll sometimes go for months without posting to this thread. It's something you almost have to do on a daily basis or disorientation sets in. If I go on a road trip for a few days, it's sometimes difficult to peruse what's been posted in the interim without developing symptoms of various physical and mental afflictions.

But fortunately, those are only symptoms. The real afflictions don't infect you. You, for example, could act, talk and think like a schizophrenic, but you wouldn't have schizophrenia. Good thing, or we could be shut down.

Actually, Rig, what this thread's about, in large part, is tossing out straight lines to see if anyone bites. It's just like fishing. Amos grabbed that "symptom" line like a King Mackerel glomming a live menhaden.

Sorry I've been away so long, MOM, but I see you had a couple of strangers wander up on the porch while I was away. I hope the dogs didn't lick them to death as they greeted them.

Moonglow came to town so we went out to spend a lot of money. I had spent about $100 for a push mower for her yard in her college town house (where the neighborhood assn. fines them if they don't keep the grass mowed). Then I found one for $10 at a garage sale, 20 years old and going strong. So I took the new one back. But the glasses, the eye exam, and the upgraded phone all add up. MOM, don't ever get a cell phone. Just sit on the porch and greet all passers-by. It's the best way.

Congratulations on your book truck, Rap. Will it have a motor, or are you simply pushing a book cart up and down the street with a few books on it?

Wheels? We don't have those; Pocatello hasn't advance that far because we think wheels are some sort of liberal socialist trick, like the "fire" thing. No, we have people run ahead and insert rollers, like God(dess) intended.

Poor, poor Khandu. Once mighty and ignored, he is now puny and ignored. No longer King of Mississippi, he has been relegated to being Junior Assistant Princeling of Babbling Brook, New Jersey. Once surrounded by the Royal Dancing Bimbos, he is now surrounded by empty Thunderbird bottles and broken banjo picks.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen!

Even Tweed, who is even now clutching and scrambling and crawling his way to the Royal Throne, has fallen. Fortunately, he wasn't hurt much as he landed on his head.

As for the Nats -- well, three is better than none, I guess. At least they won't have a complete washout of a season.

King khandu sought to fulfill his long ago predicted destiny by abdicating his throne and running off with a cashier from Walmart. But when he got to Walmart, all the cashiers on duty were male, so he decided to use the self-checkout lane. Using irrefutable khandu logic, he determined that since he was acting as cashier, he could fulfill his destiny by running off with himself.

So, khandu is now holed up somewhere with khandu, living off of the Little Debbie oatmeal pies he bought at Walmart, and neither khandu nor khandu has been heard from in months.

MOM, I'm bushed. Literally. I boxed up and bundled lots of branches from various bushes and trees that I'd dumped in the compost a long time ago. They have been in the way, so I bundled and cut and stuffed and tied up several bundles that are now down at the curb for the trash guys on Monday. My mowing in the back is a little easier now. I shouldn't be throwing any more sticks and rocks with the mower. I know MOM was disappointed when the mower was throwing so much stuff that it knocked down some of her sunflowers and knocked a concoidal fracture type hole in the sliding glass door from that flying rock.

I did not bother mentioning A truth, so bright and nifty: That with that post I had attained The twenty-nine, eight-fifty! Thus this, of course, is fifty-one, ANd also brings to mind That to achieve the Thirty Kay Lacks just one-forty-nine!!